


Blame It On the Eggnog

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothers, Career Change, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Dysfunctional Family, Eggnog, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Feelings, Happy Ending, Lawyers, Love Confessions, Making Love, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Mistrust, Morning After, Moving In Together, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Office Party, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Passion, Pregnancy, Sex, Spying, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: To the outside world, Jaime Lannister is a man who has it all - a gig at his family's prestigious law firm in Midtown Manhattan, a luxurious condo on the Upper West Side, and more money than he can burn.  What he doesn't have, however, is the one thing he wants the most - Sansa Stark, his nephew's girlfriend.  The funny thing is, all it takes is one night and a little bit of eggnog to change a man's life forever.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 222
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts).



> This story idea came about during a conversation with Janina, and I thought, y'know, why not? Why not spin a yarn that starts with pining Jaime and tipsy Sansa? So, here ya' go folks - a short, fluffy little Christmas-themed romcom fic. Enjoy, Janina - you earned it! LOL
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime hates work-related social functions, but when a certain redheaded junior associate shows up, things get interesting very quickly.

Sitting at the bar inside the Baccarat Hotel in Midtown Manhattan, Jaime stares blankly into his water glass, unwillingly engulfed by the light, lilting laughter of his colleagues from Lannister & Associates. He hates all forms of social functions, and tonight’s annual Christmas party is no exception. There is nothing quite as taxing for a life-long bachelor than being subjugated to an endless, mind-numbing parade of conversations focused on soccer games, dance recitals, and college-entrance exam scores.

Earlier in the week, he had tried to weasel out of attending the affair, hoping to stay home in his upscale, yuppie apartment, sipping a glass of Mondavi and enjoying a quiet evening alone. Alas, dear old dad would not hear of it. There was no way Tywin Lannister, managing partner of one of the oldest, most prestigious law firms in all of Manhattan, was letting his eldest son – the heir not only to the family fortune but also to the head seat at the firm as well – bail out on his duty. 

Exhaling with boredom, Jaime’s fingertip traces the rim of his water glass, trying to block out the endless chatter but failing miserably. He would need far too many glasses of wine to accomplish that task, and since he never drinks at work-related gatherings such as these, he will just have to suffer until he has put in enough time at the party to satisfy his father. Fidgeting on his stool, he checks his Rolex and sighs again. It is not yet nine-thirty, which means he has only been at the party not quite twenty minutes even though it started over an hour ago. Frustrated, he vows to leave just as soon as his father has given his yearly speech about how wonderful the law firm is and how lucky their staff is to be working for them.

“Lannister!” a man’s voice booms across the din of the crowd as he enters the bar. “How’s it hangin’?”

Jaime cannot help but chuckle as Bronn approaches. “Fair and square. How’s your pair?”

“Long and loose and full of juice!” Bronn barks out in laughter, whacking Jaime’s shoulder with the hand not holding his mixed drink. “Damn, you’re a funny one,” he says, straddling the stool next to Jaime. “I’ll make a Texan out of you yet.”

“I highly doubt it,” Jaime replies as Bronn waves his empty glass at the bartender on duty, who hustles over to fetch him another one.

“I thought I’d find you hidin’ in here.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Bronn snorts. “I’m a private investigator, for fuck’s sake. I’m paid to notice shit like that.” He snatches the new drink from the counter where the bartender rests it. “So, where’d that brother of yours get to? I haven’t seen him since I got here.”

As Bronn takes a swig, Jaime shrugs. “God only knows, but more than likely, he’s holed up somewhere with Shae.”

“He still got the hots for that saucy little secretary from over in Workers Comp?”

“Administrative Assistant,” Jaime corrects him.

“Whatever,” Bronn says, rolling his eyes. “Well, wherever he is, I wish him luck with that dark-eyed minx. I bet she’s a wildcat in bed.”

“I don’t think he’s hanging around just for the sex. I dare say Tyrion is quite smitten with her.”

“Is that right?” Bronn tuts his tongue at the thought. “I’ll be damned. Never thought I’d live to see the day one of the Lannister brothers would go and do somethin’ stupid like that.”

Jaime’s blond brows pinch. “Like what?”

“Fall in love.”

 _You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?_ Jaime asks himself while visions of a certain young, redheaded junior associate flit across his consciousness. She is lost in thought while sitting next to him in the conference room, gnawing the end of her pen as the legal team mulls over their defense strategy for the Lorch case. She is pacing the length of his high-rise office, her long legs making short work of the distance from wall to wall as they rehearse her opening arguments for their pending trial. She is seated across from him at The Aquavit during a business lunch, giggling at one of his ridiculous puns while he tries not to let the entire eatery notice how far gone he is for his nephew’s girlfriend.

His budding daydream is cut short when Bronn kicks back the rest of his drink and slams the glass onto the bar. The brash Southerner wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeballing Jaime’s water glass while he does so. “What’s with the that, anyway?” he asks, tapping the rim with his finger.

“It’s hard to make a fool out of oneself if one remains sober.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Amused by the observation, Jaime slides his glass to the side. “Not all of us are afforded the privilege of saying what we think whenever we think it, Bronn. That is a luxury only you Southerners seem to enjoy.”

“Well, would you look at that,” Bronn says, oozing interest with something other than the conversation at hand.

Jaime’s green eyes follow the path Bronn’s gaze makes as it travels across the bar. The very redhead who has haunted his dreams these last nine months since coming to work for Lannister & Associates has entered the room, a vision to behold in her little black dress and pearls, yet she is a far cry from the polished, poised professional woman he has come to know and love. Bumping into several of their colleagues as she wanders, she apologizes for her faux pas each time in between a random string of unladylike snorts.

“Sansa . . .” Jaime all but whispers, puzzled by her antics. It is completely out of character for the young woman, the epitome of dignity and decorum, to act like some college coed entering a frat party already three sheets to the wind. He cannot fathom what on earth has happened to cause her to behave in such a fashion.

“Jaime!” she shrieks when her eyes land on him, her volume causing almost every head to turn her way. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Fuck me sideways,” Bronn drawls under his breath, nudging Jaime with his elbow as the gorgeous young woman clickety-clacks her way towards them. “Somebody’s gettin’ lucky tonight.”

“Will you please keep your voice down?” Jaime sasses his mouthy companion. “She is my nephew’s girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. And I’m old enough to be her father. We’re just friends and colleagues, that’s all.”

“Bet she’s got daddy issues.”

Jaime shoves Bronn so hard that he slips off his stool and onto his feet. Howling in laughter, Bronn thwacks Jaime on the back. “A hundred bucks says you’re in bed together come mornin’.”

“I swear, if you don’t - ”

“Hi, Jaime!” Sansa squeals, interrupting his train of thought as she approaches both her mentor and the firm’s best in-house P.I. “Hey, Bronn!”

“Hey there, darlin’,” Bronn says, shooting Jaime a wink on the side. “You doin’ alright this evenin’?”

Sansa titters like a silly schoolgirl, vexing Jaime even further. “Why, I’m just peachy, _darlin’_.” She leans into Bronn, flicking his bolo tie with her long nails. “God, I love the way you Texans dress. It’s like you’re stuck in the fifties or something.”

“Are you sure everything is alright, Sansa?” Jaime asks while Bronn lifts an eyebrow at him in challenge.

“Alright?” she shouts, her voice ringing off the crystal chandeliers and drawing even more attention to the three of them. “Everything is absolutely wonderful now that _you’re_ here!” 

When she pushes off Bronn, she stumbles slightly before he catches her. Jaime is on his feet in a flash, taking her into his own arms as Bronn hands her over.

“I think this is the part where I skedaddle,” Bronn calls out while heading for the entryway. “Y’all have fun now, you hear? And Lannister - I’ll stop by Monday to collect my money.”

“What money?” Sansa asks Jaime softly, her doe eyes staring at up him while she grins from ear to ear.

“Never mind him,” he replies, clearing his throat and doing his best to avoid making eye contact with the room full of curious onlookers. “Here, why don’t you have a seat?” Carefully he helps her onto the stool next to his, easing her in as if handling a holy relic. Once she is seated, he starts to take his spot on the one next to hers, but before his rear hits the stool, she sways where she sits. Jaime leaps to the rescue, steadying her. “Sansa, have you been drinking?”

“Pfft, no way,” she replies, her head shaking hard enough to unsteady her if Jaime had not been holding onto her. “I took your advice. ‘Don’t drink at work socials unless you wanna risk making a fool out of yourself.’ So, I’ve stuck with the eggnog all night.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow. “The eggnog?”

“Have you tried it yet? Man, that stuff is sooooo good.”

“How much eggnog did you drink?”

She shrugs, leaning into him a little harder. “Uh, three cups, maybe? Four? Who knows!” Her baby blues stare into his, her hand lifting to cradle his jaw. “Did anyone ever tell you your face looks like it was carved out of marble?”

“Oh, boy,” he murmurs, gently removing her hand and resting it on her lap. Her behavior makes perfect sense now. “Sansa, I’m afraid you’re drunk.”

“What?” She almost shouts, turning even more heads their direction. “That’s impossible! I’ve been drinking the - ”

“ – eggnog, which by now probably has enough rum in it to flatten a cow.”

Her ginger brows almost touch. “But eggnog doesn’t have _that_ much booze in it, does it?”

“It does when Tyrion is around.”

Sansa snorts. “Oopsie! Me bad!” Her voice carries across the bar all the way into the hallway leading to the Grand Salon where dinner will be served any minute, and several people from Lannister & Associates point their way, no doubt gossiping themselves silly. 

When she starts playing with his tie like a cat batting a toy, Jaime exhales slowly. “You know what. I think we’d better get you home.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime struggles with getting Sansa a cab ride home.

Exiting the glass entryway of the hotel with Sansa in tow, Jaime works hard to keep her in an upright position as they make their way toward the curb. He might be in terrific shape for a man his age, but his biceps are growling from supporting her weight. Never a religious man, he finds himself thanking the Man Upstairs when the vacant cab he hails pulls over, coming to a stop directly in front of him and the young, giddy redhead who has not stopped giggling since he led her out of the Christmas party.

“In you go,” he says, supporting Sansa while she steps from the curb into the cab. As careful as he is, she still manages to trip on her sky-high heels, tumbling onto her knees into the backseat with an ungraceful thud. When she tries to get up, she bumps her head on the roof, a move that has her laughing hysterically and flopping onto her back with her legs still hanging out of the car. Flustered, Jaime offers the cabbie a terse smile. “Give us a moment.”

“It’s your dime, pal,” the driver says as he hits the taximeter to start the clock.

“You’re really tall.” Jaime’s attention snaps to Sansa, whose tightened eyes are studying him from her vantage point in the backseat. “Like, _way_ taller than Joffrey.”

“Thank you?”

“And your eyes,” she continues. “They’re so much greener than his.”

Jaime heaves a heavy breath. “Alright, let’s get you home.” He leans into the cab, tugging her by the arms to get her into a seated position.

Sansa offers no help, remaining deadweight as she continues with her comparisons. “And you’re so, _so_ much smarter than he is. And funny, too. Like, I could listen to you read from _Black’s Law Dictionary_ and still laugh.”

“Sansa, please . . .” Jaime whispers, still struggling to get her seated, “if you would be so kind . . . could you . . . sit . . .up . . .” When he finally has her sitting like a normal fare should be seated, she decides to show a little initiative by lifting her arms so he can buckle her seatbelt. As he leans over her, clicking it in place, she pitches forward, stuffing her nose into his hair and taking a huge whiff.

“Jesus, you smell so good,” she blurts out. “I just wanna _live_ in that head of hair.” One of her hands darts out to run through it, causing his eyelashes to almost smack his eyebrows. He pulls away quickly, thumping his head on the seat in front of her, which sets her off again, her boisterous laughter coming straight from her belly.

Unsettled, Jaime rubs the back of his head and resolves to ignore what just occurred. He reminds himself that she is inebriated. She has no idea what is coming out of her mouth or what she is doing right now. He cannot hold her responsible for anything that happens tonight. Period.

“Where to?” the cab driver asks, his impatience palpable as Jaime leans down to stuff her straggling foot into the car. Jaime’s mouth opens but clamps shut quickly. From their conversations about Sansa's struggle to find decent, affordable living conditions when she first moved to New York and started working at the firm, he knows she lives in Brooklyn, but since he has never been to her apartment, he knows little else about where she lives.

“Hold on,” Jaime says, raising an index finger at the cabbie. He turns to Sansa, who is sitting there grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. “What is your address?”

“Address?” She scrunches up her nose, lost in thought.

“Yes, your address.”

She remains quiet for a moment before she starts to nod. “India.”

Jaime blinks. “India?”

“Yup,” she says, popping the “p” with extra emphasis.

“You live in India?”

Sansa starts to giggle like he said the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard. “Not _in_ India, silly. _On_ India. You know, the street. Like, in Greenpoint.”

Jaimie scrubs his chin. “Well, that’s a start, at least.” The cabbie clears his throat, and Jaime catches him shooting death rays at the two of them through the rearview mirror. “Right.” He points to her tiny handbag she is holding in her lap. “How about you hand me your purse so I can take a peek at your license to get the number?”

“Sure!” She pitches it at him without warning, but he manages to catch it. In a rush, he digs around inside the tiny scrap of fabric masquerading as a purse for any form of identification. No luck.

“Sansa, where is your wallet?” Jaime asks, still searching in hopes he may have overlooked it.

“At home.”

His eyes cut to her. “At home?”

Waving her hand toward the handbag, she offers him an enormous smile. “It wouldn’t fit in that itty bitty little thing, so I just stuffed some money in one of the pockets and left the wallet at home in my regular ol’ handbag. Pretty smart, yeah?”

While Sansa giggles at everything and nothing all at once, Jaime exhales in a whoosh. Perhaps he bit off more than he can chew tonight by volunteering to handle the tipsy young woman. Reaching into the inside pocket of his black Dolce & Gabbana suit jacket, he yanks out his cell phone.

“Maybe I should go ahead and call Joffrey,” he says as he starts scrolling through his contact list to locate his nephew’s number.

“Joffrey?” Sansa lunges for his phone, covering it with her hands. “Oh, _hell_ no.”

For once, Jaime is at a loss for words.

“I hope I never see him again . . . which is gonna be hard since we work in the same office, but . . . whatever. At least I dumped him. Stupid jerk.”

Surprised by the revelation, he chokes back the urge to click his heels in joy right where he stands on West 53rd Street. “I’m so sorry to hear things didn’t work out between you two.” _And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we in the legal business call a textbook example of perjury._

“Don’t be.” She scoffs, letting go of his phone. “He’s been cheating on me since the beginning, and quite frankly, I don’t give a damn who he sleeps with as long as it isn’t me. Let Margaery have him. They deserve each other.” 

Before Jaime can process the breaking news that his worthless nephew’s behavior has caused Sansa to end things between them, the irritated cab drive interrupts his thoughts. “Look, are you two goin’ anywhere or you plannin’ to sit here yakkin’ all night?”

Jaime nods. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” Reaching into his jacket, he snags his leather wallet to tip the poor driver well for his trouble. “Come, Sansa. Let’s go find Jeyne. She’ll know your address, and we’ll get you another cab home.” As the cabbie’s eyes pop out of his head upon receiving a hundred-dollar-bill, Sansa grabs Jaime’s forearm.

“But I don’t want to go home,” she says softly. “Margaery, she’s my roommate, and . . . God, she’s been fucking him right there in my own apartment, and he’s probably over there with her now.” Sansa’s small hands squeeze his arm. “Please, Jaime. Can’t I just go home with you? Just for the night?”

As those big blue eyes wait for an answer, he can barely scrape his mouth off his chest. He is stupefied. Part of him wants to show up on Sansa’s doorstep and beat some sense into his no-good nephew while the other part cannot believe she just asked to sleep over at his place.

Surely, she means nothing by her request. They are friends as well as colleagues, even if he is madly in love with her and just so happens to be related to the narcissistic little twat she just broke up with. Sansa is a beautiful, smart young woman caught in the aftermath of a messy breakup, and she only asks for a place to crash for the night, somewhere safe and with someone whom she can trust. 

He can do this for her. He can pretend. He has been doing it for almost a year now. One night at his place won’t hurt anything. 

“I’ll make it worth your while if you’ll take us to 606 West 57th Street, between 11th and 12th,” he says to the now-eager cabbie, and the crooked smile Sansa offers him makes his knees tremble.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime lets his guard down, but Sansa lets hers way, _way_ down.

Sansa’s slow, expressive whistle echoes within the walls of Jaime’s chic, two-bedroom apartment as she twirls about his white oak floor, drinking in the high-end scenery. “Your place is amazing!”

“Thank you.” Tossing his keys and wallet into the crystal dish on the side table near his front door, Jaime smiles tersely, embarrassed at how ridiculously lavish his place must seem to a young woman born and raised in rural, northern Maine.

“I knew you were rich, but . . . _geez_.” She disappears for a moment when she wanders into his kitchen, her fingers trailing along the sleek quartz countertops.

Jaime clears his throat. “You could call it a job hazard, I suppose.”

As she reappears on the other side, her neck cranes to admire the lofty ceilings and his luxury, modular Italian furniture. “Joffrey is a job hazard, but this, this is . . . oh, my gosh - is that the Hudson?” She dashes to his private balcony, pressing her nose and hands against the sliding glass door.

“Um, yes. Yes, it is.” Unconsciously he rocks on the balls of his feet while Sansa stares out at the bright city lights. He has not been this nervous in quite some time, and it is an odd sensation. He is a seasoned litigator, facing off against countless judges and prosecutors in his day. Nothing has put him on edge quite like the present.

“Wow . . . just _wow_.” She struggles to unlatch the door to his balcony. “Mind if I take a closer look?”

Jaime all but levitates as he bolts to where she stands, removing her hands from the latch and redirecting her to the sofa. “Maybe another time.” The last thing he needs is for Sansa to tumble head-first forty-two floors to the pavement below. “How about I make us some coffee?”

“Mmm, that sounds wonderful,” she replies as he eases her onto the sofa. As he hurries into his kitchen, she shucks her heels and drops them to the floor with a thud. “Oh, man, it feels so good to get out of these things.”

He chuckles while juggling the French press and the dry roast and the water he is boiling. “I imagine they’re not the most comfortable choice of footwear.”

“Tell me about.” Satisfied for the moment, she heaves a contented breath and reclines against the thick pillows, melting into the rich, soft fabric as she stretches her long legs the length of his sofa. “Whoever invented these things for women to wear should be taken out back and shot.”

“Actually, some of the first people to wear heels were men,” he calls out to her. He sniffs the opened container of cream, grimacing at the odor before rummaging inside his fridge for a fresh one.

“No way!”

“I’m serious. Persian men in the tenth century wore heels while on horseback so their feet would fit better in the stirrups.”

Sansa bursts into a fit of giggles. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I assure you, I’m not. The European aristocracy brought Persian styles into fashion in the seventeenth century, and that’s when men everywhere started wearing them. King Louis XIV of France had a four-inch pair.”

“How in the world do you remember stuff like that?”

While their coffee steeps, he leans on the counter, lost in thought as he peers at her through the pass-through window between the kitchen and living area. Long ago he learned he was stupid for wanting to do anything other than practice law at the family firm. At least, that is what his father and twin sister said on more than one occasion. 

“Well, this may come as a shock, but I didn’t set out to be a lawyer.” 

Sansa smile grows. “Really?”

“Really.”

“So, what did you want to be, then?”

“The next Lagerfield or Dior, surprisingly enough.”

“Woah.” Her whole face reeks of surprise. “A designer? I had no idea!”

Jaime chuckles. “No, I would think not.”

“If you’re half as good at designing shit as you are at working a courtroom, I’d wear your name across my butt in a heartbeat. Or boobs.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he says, laughing at her matter-of-fact delivery and how loose her lips have become tonight thanks to the eggnog.

“But why become a lawyer if you didn’t want to be one?” she asks while he rummages in a cabinet for two clean mugs. “I mean, your family is loaded. You could’ve gone to school anywhere and studied under the best designers if - ”

“ - _if_ my father weren’t so ruthless, yes, that might very well have been true.” Jaime sighs, remembering those younger years spent under his father’s thumb, an appendage he still has not quite managed to escape from even in his forties. “There was no way he was letting his oldest son pursue a career in the fashion world. So, Yale it was.”

“That’s just horrible, Jaime. I’m so, so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” he says with a shrug, trying to make it seem like it does not bother him even after all this time. “Such is life as a Lannister. You get used to it.” The timer for the coffee starts buzzing in the kitchen, and he is relieved to change the subject. “Half-caff with cream and three sugars, right?”

“Yeah, that’s it exactly.” He works quickly before he emerges with two mugs in hand. “Thank you,” she says when he hands her one, a sly grin dancing across her face as he takes a seat near her on the sofa but at a safe, respectable distance.

“You’re welcome.”

They fall quiet for a few moments, him blowing on his coffee while Sansa just holds hers. His peripheral vision lets him know she is staring at him, and the knowledge makes his stomach flitter. He takes a long sip, desperate to relax under her scrutiny, but the longer she says nothing, the harder it is for him to do so.

“You know, I dated Joffrey for months, and he couldn’t even remember that I _like_ coffee, let alone remember what I want in it.” She gnaws her bottom lip, deep in thought. “How _do_ you remember stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?”

“Y’know, random stuff. Stuff like Persian dudes wore heels in the whatever century. Or how I take my coffee, especially since Jeyne is the one who usually fetches it for me.”

Jaime shrugs. “It’s easy to remember things when they relate to something – or someone – that is important to you.”

As they sit on the sofa, her eyes as wide as the moon outside while she processes what he said, the silence between them is deafening. He cannot believe he let his inner thoughts eek out like he did, but there it is, floating between the two of them. He racks his brain for a wise crack, some way to make light of the situation like he always does. That is how he handles everything when it comes to her. Smile and joke, smile and joke. Otherwise, he would not have survived these last nine months working with her. Pretending he has not memorized everything there is to notice about her is the only way he can function.

“How come I didn’t meet you and not Joffrey first?” she asks, the seriousness in her tone sending a shiver straight through him.

“Probably because I was in law school when you started school.” He hopes his attempt at levity and his forced smile will lighten the mood, but it fades quickly when she sits her mug on the coffee table and heads straight for him. 

“You’re not _that_ much older than me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she slides right up next to him. “And who cares, anyway? I don’t.”

His heart is about to pound right out of his ribcage when she takes his coffee mug out of his hands and rests it on the table next to hers. “Sansa, listen to me. You’ve had a lot of eggnog tonight. You’re - ”

Her finger covers his lips, shushing his objection. “You can’t blame _everything_ on the eggnog, Jaime.” 

His heartbeat breaks into a full gallop when she hikes up her dress and straddles him, her dainty hands finding their way into his hair for the second time this evening. He keeps his own hands in the air, desperate to retain some semblance of propriety even though the tops of her stockings are winking at him. It takes every fiber of his being not to give in just this once, just one time where he can pretend that this beautiful, smart, witty young woman wants him as badly as he wants her.

“God, I want to kiss you,” she murmurs, touching his forehead with her soft, moist lips. “And kiss you.” They meet the tip of his nose. “And kiss you.” Again, they meet his skin, caressing the rise of his cheekbone. “Until you feel as dizzy as me.” Her mouth hovers over his, waiting, watching.

Jaime’s entire body tingles as they remain in the beginnings of a lover’s embrace, the feel of her lithe, firm frame leaning on his deliciously forbidden yet perfect. She is everything he has ever wanted but could not have, so far out of reach that he dared not imagine a moment like this. Her hesitant, eager smile draws him in, hypnotizing and intoxicating him, the warmth from her breath destabilizing yet inviting. He aches to dive into those blue eyes and go under, never to resurface. 

“Then kiss me,” he rasps, ignoring his better judgment for once.

The corner of her mouth curls into a wicked grin before she surges forward, kissing him roughly, completely unyielding. He grasps the back of her head, hands tangled in her curls, desperate to experience beauty in its truest form. Time and space explode into a hazy shade of winter, light and sound blur, every one of his senses erupting into a rainbow of color. She moans against his mouth, her body devouring the last scrap of space between them. A growl rumbles low in his throat, his gut clenching and his toes curling inside his leather Louboutins, and all he knows and thinks and feels is absorbed by this moment.

As they continue to kiss, his hands wander, sliding up her back and downward again, gripping her ass and rubbing her thighs. She emits an appreciative moan as his hand trails a path higher and higher, disappearing under her hemline. Emboldened, he presses onward.

“Jaime,” she whines into his ear, his fingers skimming the lace edging of her panties.

“Yes, darling?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick!” Before he can blink, she is covering her mouth with both hands, hopping off his lap like a cat on fire and charging down the hallway in search of a bathroom. While she heaves into the toilet, he runs his hands through his messy hair, chastising himself for letting things get _thisclose_ to crossing the line. She needs someone to listen to her, to take care of her . . . not to take advantage of her. 

“Are you okay?” he calls out to her as he makes his way to the bathroom. “Can I get you anything?” Another wave of nausea crashes into her, rendering her speechless. He knocks on the door before he enters, and once inside, he kneels next to her onto the black and white tile, gently pulling her hair to the side. While she heaves, he rubs her back with his free hand, soothing her with hushed reassurances that everything is all right, that she will be fine once her stomach is empty. When the vomiting finally subsides, she collapses into his arms, too weak and too tired to sit up on her own. 

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

“No worries,” he says with a smile, stroking her sweaty hair out of her face. “It happens to the best of us.” Her eyes are heavy while she returns his smile. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Rising to his feet, he scoops her into his arms, carrying her bridal style to his bedroom. She burrows her face into his neck, nuzzling him and snuggling against him. In his room, he carefully lies her on his bed, jerking the throw pillows aside and yanking the covers down so she can slide in. Once he has her completely tucked in, he smooths her hair. Her blue eyes bob open and close, her lips curled at the corner as sleep demands her attention. 

“You’re my knight in shining armor,” she whispers, taking his hand in hers and giving it a slight squeeze.

He smiles in return, but it does not quite meet his eyes. “Get some sleep,” he says, reminding himself that she will not remember any of what happened tonight come tomorrow. He allows himself one stolen kiss on her brow before he rises to leave, resting her hand on her stomach before heading for the door.

“Jaime?”

“Yes?”

“Could you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

Jaime swallows hard. He would stay by her side forever and always if he could. “Sure. Of course.” He returns to his seat next to her on his bed, and she immediately curls into him, her body relaxing with every breath she takes. Again her hand finds its way into his, and she brings it to her cheek, snuggling against it.

Stroking her hair as her breathing steadies, Jaime inhales and exhales slowly. The gods have seen fit to torture him like always, giving him a glimpse of what might have been if only had he been brave enough to ask her out when they first met instead of letting his worthless nephew beat him to it. He is glad that when she rises, all of this will be nothing more than a figment of her tipsy imagination, even if the taste of her sweet lips will haunt him until he draws his last breath.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he mutters to her as she falls asleep, stroking her hair in a slow, soothing fashion. “It was your first day at the office, and your brilliant smile almost blinded me when you shook my hand. I remember that your older brother is an up-and-coming prosecutor in the D.A.’s office back home and how proud you were when he won the Frey case this summer. I remember that you’re allergic to horses and that you love Mexican food. I remember that your favorite color is purple and that you’ve seen _The Princess Bride_ over a hundred times and that you have an irrational fear of walking over storm drains.”

Finished with his unheard confession, Jaime leans down to kiss her head one last time. He is careful to slip away and make his way to the door as discreetly as possible. He turns toward Sansa as she lies fast asleep, taking one more look before he shuts the light. “I remember everything there is to remember about you, Sansa Stark,” he whispers, and with his final thought, he exits, shutting the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime makes Sansa an offer she can’t refuse - two, to be exact. And Sansa decides it is high-time that Jaime knows the truth.

Standing at the kitchen counter while the stove timer buzzes, Jaime swipes his hands on his apron and grabs an oven mitt. The bacon is done, and once it is pulled from the oven, it will be time to start scrambling the eggs. He is humming to himself as he works, shuffling pans and dumping grease, caught up in the rush of spending his morning making one hell of a post-hangover-cure breakfast for Sansa.

It is almost eleven in the morning, yet he has seen neither hide nor hair of the sleepy redhead who spent the night in his bed. She should be heading his way soon enough since the shower in his bathroom cranked up almost twenty minutes ago. Anticipating her arrival any moment, he is confident that she will not remember a thing, which will make it much easier for them to slip back into the way things were. The last thing he wants is for her to feel awkward around him or ashamed for making a mistake.

 _I just wish I wasn’t the mistake,_ he thinks to himself as he grabs a whisk out of the drawer. 

“Hey,” her soft voice trails into the kitchen.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, bumping the drawer closed with his hip as he heads to the stove to prepare the eggs. Glancing over his shoulder, his breath catches in his throat when he sees her leaning on the doorframe, wearing one of his t-shirts and pajama pants she must have pilfered from his armoire. Her damp, ruddy curls are cascading down her shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed and free of makeup. He takes note of every freckle he has never glimpsed before now, making sure he imprints the image into his brain for future reference. “Did you sleep well?”

“It’d be hard not to in that bed of yours,” she replies, her lopsided grin making his heart skip a beat or two. “It was like sleeping on a cloud. I wish I never had to get out of it.”

Jaime laughs, barring himself from contemplating what it would be like if Sansa could wake up in his bed every morning, or better yet, if he were the reason that she did not want to leave it.

Grinning ear to ear, Sansa shoves off the doorframe and shuffles into the kitchen. “It smells amazing in here, by the way. I didn’t know you can cook.”

“I can’t,” he admits as he starts whipping the eggs into a nice, fluffy froth, “but I can make a mean breakfast.” He is suddenly aware that she is standing next to him, peering around his shoulder to watch him in action. 

“Well, if I’d known that,” she says, “I’d have asked for a sleep over sooner.” 

Flustered by her comment, it is all he can do to keep on whisking while she giggles at her own joke, nudging his shoulder with hers, but he somehow manages to offer a chuckle in return. Just when he thinks he has his nerves under control, she reaches around him, her small hands wrapping around his. 

“Here, let me help. It’s the least I can do to repay you for everything.” 

“You don’t have to repay me.”

“But I’d like to. Please?”

“As you wish,” he replies, unable to refuse her like always. Her whole face twinkles at his reference to her favorite movie, her lip disappearing under the top row of her teeth while she studies him. There is a moment that slips by while they stand in his kitchen, hands melded together, her face searching his for something he knows not what. The urge to break his long-standing rule to keep his mouth shut when it comes to his true feelings for her swells the longer their hands stay connected.

“The bowl?” she says, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Bowl . . .” he mumbles, and when her ginger brow lifts, he remembers he has yet to let go. “Bowl - right!” He slips away quickly and dives into a different task, hoping she did not notice the flush on his cheeks. For a few minutes, neither speaks as they fall into a rhythm while putting the finishing touches on breakfast. As he watches her out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to be discreet, he enjoys how serious she is while cooking the eggs, so focused and determined just like she is at work.

When she begins humming to herself, his eyes crinkle at the corners. His joy is almost too much to bear. She looks rested and comfortable, like she has not a care in the world, and it makes him the happiest he has been since he cannot remember when that she is here with him, so contented and at peace. Even if the moment will be short-lived, he will take it.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, breaking the silence as she scoops the hot eggs onto a serving plate, “because I think I’ve made enough food to feed the entire building.”

“I’m starving.” Sansa snorts. “I guess that’s what happens when you hurl a gallon of eggnog before you go to bed.”

He grins but says nothing while he scurries to the double oven once again and removes a tray of pancakes he prepared earlier in the morning.

“Thanks for the ibuprofen and water you left for me on the bathroom counter, by the way. That was a nice touch.”

“You’re more than welcome. And here,” he says, presenting a plate of bacon. “Take this to the table with the eggs, will you? I’ll grab the rest.”

“Sure.” When she reaches for the plate, her fingers graze his, freezing him in place. His eyes follow her tongue as it darts out to wet her lips, and he is certain he is starting to sweat even though the sleeves of his dress shirt he slept in all night are rolled up to his elbows.

“I’ll, uh . . . I’ll be out in just a minute,” he says.

“You sure you don’t want any more help?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Suit yourself.” She winks as she slips away, and when she disappears around the corner, he rips his apron off and flings it onto the counter, bracing himself on said counter while trying to regain his composure.

Pretending he does not want to wrap his arms around her and pick up where they left off last night is getting more difficult with each passing second. Last night he tossed and turned for hours, warring with himself on how to handle things this morning. Up and down, back and forth he went, cross-examining himself until he finally rested his case.

He decided that come morning, he would say nothing about her behavior toward him - _especially_ the kissing part. She will not remember anything anyway, so why stir up trouble? Nothing good would come of it. It would only humiliate her and ruin their friendship. Keeping things light and casual was the way to go. 

Pulling himself together, he plasters a smile on his face. He grabs the tray of pancakes, rushing out to serve breakfast. “Here we go!” he calls out while he arranges the table, making sure he abstains from any eye contact, before seating himself opposite her. He steadies his breathing before daring to look her direction, and when he does, there she sits grinning at him, a hit of mischief on her face, her glass of orange juice lifted in the air.

“I’d like to make a toast,” she says, nodding toward his glass so he will lift his as well.

“Certainly,” he replies, taking his glass in hand.

“To surviving Tyrion’s eggnog!”

Jaime cannot contain his amusement. “To surviving Tyrion’s eggnog,” he says, clinking his glass against hers. 

As the two enjoy their meal, the normality of their conversation relaxes him. They talk about easy topics, such as the forecast for snow later this weekend and sundry current news events of interest. It is not until their bellies are full that the discussion heads into choppier waters.

“So . . .” she begins, resting her napkin beside her empty plate. “About last night . . .”

He says nothing, anxious to remain as stoic as possible. 

“I want to apologize for how I acted at the party. I know I must have made a fool out of myself. I can’t even imagine what everyone must think of me now.” 

Jaime grins. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first person to succumb to Tyrion’s shenanigans, nor will you be the last. No one will care come Monday. And besides, with the Bolton trial coming up in a few weeks, everyone will be too busy to sit around gossiping.” 

While she fiddles with the fork resting on the edge of her plate, a long, heavy sigh trickles out. “I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, now that Joffrey and I aren’t together anymore, you know as well as I do, he’s going to try to turn everyone against me. He already threated that if I broke up with him, he’d make sure I lose my job.”

“That no good little shit . . .” Jaime growls under his breath, causing Sansa’s ginger brows to bump into her hairline. His hand shoots across the table, covering hers. “My nephew is an arrogant, spoiled brat who couldn’t find his way to the courthouse without asking for directions. The only reason he is working at the firm is because my sister demands it. You are an amazing attorney and one of the best to come through our doors in ages. You are worth a thousand of him, and everyone there knows that, including my father. Trust me - if anyone loses their job, it will be him, not you. I will see to it myself.” 

Her creased brow softens, her shoulders relaxing as she flips her hand around and threads her fingers with his. “You mean that?”

“I have never been more serious.”

She draws a deep breath, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Then I guess you’re not mad at me?”

“What on earth for?”

“Well, let’s see . . . in less than twenty-four hours, you had to leave the party almost as soon as you got there because of me, and so far, I’ve wrecked two of your bathrooms and kicked you out of your own bed.”

“Nonsense,” he says, offering a sincere smile. “I was ready to leave that thing before I even arrived, and since I happen to have a toilet brush under the sink and a daybed in my office, you didn’t inconvenience me in any way.”

His quick wit draws a belly laugh out of her, and it pleases him to no end that she is still holding his hand.

“I’m so not looking forward to going home and dealing with Margaery,” she says, punctuating her thought with a deep, heavy sigh. “Or Joffrey, if he’s still there."

Jaime’s blond brows furrow while he thinks on his feet. “You know what?” 

“What?”

“You could spend the day here, with me, if you’d like.”

Her surprise is obvious. “Really?”

“Really. We could hang out, watch cheesy Christmas movies, maybe have a little popcorn and hot chocolate . . .” The way she chews her bottom lip is all the encouragement he needs. “We could even order in lunch from Pop’s Pizza and play some card games if I can track down the deck Bronn left behind the last time that he and Tyrion and some of the guys from the office came over for a poker night.”

Sansa laughs again, making his heart sing. “Thanks, Jaime. I would absolutely love that!”

“And . . . sidebar?” She nods, her obvious curiosity spurring him onward. He wets his lips, unable to believe he is about to say what he is about to say. “If you need a place to stay, just until you get on your feet, of course, you are welcome to my office. The daybed is not nearly as comfortable as my own bed, but you may have it all the same.”

Sansa’s mouth almost hits the floor. “Are you serious?”

Panic dares to set in, but he holds fast, presenting his closing before he backpedals. “I hope you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t offer such a thing if I weren’t serious.”

“Jaime, I . . . thank you.” She blinks hard, holding the tears at bay. “Thank you _so_ much.” She shakes her head, her astonishment almost tangible. “You have no idea how much I’d love to stay here with you.” Falling silent, Sansa’s eyes drift to where their hands are connected.

“What are you thinking about, counselor?” he asks her playfully, caught up in the euphoria of knowing she will not only be spending the day at his apartment but also moving in as well.

“I’m thinking that I’ve never, _ever_ met another man like you.”

He scoffs but in a joking manner. “That’s because there are no other men like me. Only me.”

Instead of laughing at his joke, her eyes snap upward, her entire face morphing into something entirely too serious for his comfort level. He swallows hard, terrified that she is rethinking his offer already. To be honest, he would not blame her one bit since he did not stop to contemplate how it might look to the outside world if a young, single woman suddenly moves in with an older, single man – a coworker, no less.

The office will implode once word of her new living arrangements makes it way around the gossip mill. Her reputation will be on the line, and heaven help him once his father and sister catch wind of his new roommate. He was an idiot – an absolute idiot to suggest such a ludicrous thing. No wonder she is looking at him like he just sprouted a second head.

“If you’re having second thoughts, I would completely understand if - ”

“You want to know what I’m really thinking?” she interrupts.

He clears his throat. “Sure.”

“I’m thinking that before I move in, it’s time you finally know the truth,” she says softly, squeezing his hand harder than before.

“A confession? My, that sounds so serious.” He tries to play off the gravity of her tone, but his nervous chuckle betrays him. Before he can think of something clever to add, she is on her feet, walking around the table and kneeling before him. Clutching his hand with both of hers, she takes a deep breath before she speaks.

“I didn’t break up with Joffrey because of his cheating,” she begins, her excited expression making his pulse thrum. “I mean, I _did_ , but that wasn’t the real reason.”

Jaime’s mouth goes dry, his whole body coiled like a spring in anticipation of what she might say next. “Oh?”

Her lips curl at the corners, sending a wave of heat right through him. “I broke up with him because I’m in love with someone else, and it was time I stopped using him as a very, _very_ poor substitute for the man I really want to be with.”

“I see,” he can barely squeak.

“I’ve wanted to tell him how I feel for ages now,” she continues, “but I’ve been too scared because, well, he happens to work at the firm, too, and I was afraid that since we’ve become such good friends, he only saw me as just that – a friend. Plus, there’s a bit of an age difference between us, so I was worried he might think that was problem. I don’t, obviously, but still. It would’ve killed me to hear him say he thought of me like a daughter . . . or a niece.”

She says nothing further, waiting in silence for him to process what she just said, and when he does, his green eyes land in his lap.

“Sansa, you can’t mean that - ”

“ - but then last night,” she jumps in, lifting his hand to kiss it, “I got into some spiked eggnog by accident, and the most amazing thing happened. I got brave. Brave enough to kiss him. To kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. And you know what happened next?”

Jaime cannot hide the joy rising in his heart. “Tell me.”

“He kissed me back. And he let it slip that he has feelings for me too.” The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when her thumb caresses his knuckles in a slow, steady fashion. “So, you see? That is why it’s high-time I come clean, counselor.”

He is overwhelmed by the revelation, every synapse in his brain firing all at once.

Sansa Stark, the smartest, sweetest, most beautiful woman on the planet is in love.

With him.

She loves _him._

And Christ on a cracker - she remembers what happened last night.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” he asks her even though he already knows the answer.

A devious smirk splays across her face. “ _Everything_.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Sansa give in to their desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't notice, the tags have changed to **EXPLICIT** for a very, _very_ good reason.

While Sansa kneels in front of him, still grasping his hand in hers, Jaime tries to absorb the amazing turn of events. The lovely young woman he has desired for so long is in love with him. It is too good to be true.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispers, afraid if he verbalizes his joy, it will vanish as fast as it has materialized.

She giggles as she rises to her feet, encouraging him to do the same. “No, you’re definitely not dreaming.”

“Then surely, I must have died last night during the cab ride home,” he continues, obeying her tug to stand without hesitation, “and somehow, I managed to plead my case well enough that St. Peter let me through the gates.”

Pulling him to her, Sansa steps into his personal space. “I assure you, counselor, that you are very much alive and well.” Worrying her bottom lip, she starts toying with the mother-of-pearl buttons of his dress shirt. “And I’d love to prove it to you, too, if you don’t have any objections.” She undoes the first button, then the next, but pauses, her eyes searching his for permission to continue.

The shock on his face makes her grin. “I certainly have no objections, but are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Slowly, carefully, meticulously, she undresses him, making her way to the last button, one by one.

“It’s not too soon? Because if it is, we can wait as long as you’d like before - ”

“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” she cuts in, giving him a sinful smirk.

A surge of want courses through him, a fire erupting inside his gut that threatens to burn him alive. “God, yes.” The words barely escape his mouth before Jaime’s hands are winding in her hair, drawing her to him. When their lips connect, he tastes heaven and earth, every one of his senses awakening as if fast asleep for an eternity. Everything and anything outside of this moment cease to exist, his entire focus pinpointed on her.

Sansa pulls away for a moment, tugging at his shirt still tucked inside his dress slacks. “Off,” she says in between ragged breaths, and her command has him wrenching his shirt from his waistband so fast that he loses a button. He struggles to break free of it, but before he can wriggle out of the damn thing, she is kissing him again, her hands exploring. Her nails scratch a pathway through his chest hair, heading for his belt, and the whiny groan he releases ought to embarrass him, but it doesn’t.

In a flash his buckle loosens, the zipper unlocks, and down his pants go, pooling around his knees. He rears back to shuck them to the floor, taking the opportunity to lift the t-shirt she is wearing over her head. Dropping it to their feet, he marvels at the vision of beauty before him. Her pale skin is a splendid sight, her lacey bra as black as the dress she wore last night but considerably more transparent. 

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he murmurs. Captivated, he cups her breasts in his hands, and with his thumbs, he traces the outline of her nipples, hardening them under his touch. The delicious moan he pulls from her all but undoes him right then and there.

“More,” she whines, reaching behind her back to undo the clasp. “I need more.” Silky straps slide down shoulders, entrancing him, the cups falling forward and revealing their hidden treasure. When her bra joins the growing pile of discarded clothing, she allows him a good, long look, grinning at his slack-jawed stare.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbles after snapping out of his stupor. Clutching her by the waist, he pulls her with him until his bottom meets the very chair in which he sat just moments ago. She catches on quickly, straddling his lap, and he wastes no time lowering his mouth to her flesh, swirling his tongue around a nipple before taking it fully into his mouth. When he moves to her other breast, paying it the same intensity of attention, she cries out in pleasure, her nails digging into his scalp just this side of painful.

“That feels so good,” she says, arching her back and rocking her hips.

Her husky voice sends a jolt straight to his cock, and the pressure from her clothed core scrubbing against his erection becomes almost too much to bear. He is desperate for her, aching for her, craving her. He wants her under him, spread wide and taking him fully. He wants her riding him, in control and making him hers. He wants her every which way but loose, any way she chooses. 

“Bedroom,” he says after releasing her nipple with a wet pop. “ _Now_.”

Her naughty, mischievous eyes sparkle as she slowly slides off his lap and stands. She drags his pajama pants and her panties to her ankles in one unhurried, deliberate motion. Kicking them to the side, she rises to her full height, unashamed, naked as the day she came into this world.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t make the bed yet.” Her ginger brow arches in challenge.

A roar rumbles deep inside his chest. “You have _no_ idea.”

In a flurry of lust, Jaime is out of his seat, hauling her into his arms and heading straight for his bedroom. She shrieks, but it is quickly silenced by his kisses. Her legs and arms wrap around him, clinging to him as he makes his way down the hallway, and while they kiss, he has never been so thankful as he is right now that he could find his way around his apartment blindfolded. Once his knees hit the edge of his bed, they tumble forward, him nestling between her long legs that refuse to let him go. Hands explore, his mapping her thighs and ass while hers scrape his back and shoulders. 

Sansa writhes underneath him while they kiss, lifting her hips to increase the friction. “Jaime, please . . .” When her core grinds against his so he will get the message, he groans, kissing her harder and deeper, willing himself to not come in his underwear. He is hard and throbbing, the blood inside his ears pounding like drum. Every nerve in his body is on edge, his brain on the brink of insanity if he does not climb inside her soon.

As badly as Jaime wants to have her, however, he refuses to rush ahead to the finish line. He is certain beyond a reasonable doubt that his useless, self-centered nephew worried only about his own gratification. Joffrey could never worship Sansa in the manner she merits. She deserves to feel loved, to _be_ loved, to be cherished like the goddess that she is. 

Jaime will _not_ make the same mistake.

Her needs and desires _will_ be met.

And she will find her release before his, or he will die trying.

He takes his kisses on the road, venturing southward, and she exhales in frustration. “I want you,” she declares. She squeezes his ass with both hands, ratcheting his pulse even higher. “I want to feel you inside me.” 

Jaime chokes back a whimper. Sansa is so confident and brave, just like she is in the courtroom. Hearing her vocalize what she wants is the sexiest thing he has ever experienced. 

“Patience, darling.” He blazes a trail along the ridge of her chin down to her neck, gently massaging her breasts while pausing to venerate her collarbone. Her delicious moan pleases him, so he heads north again, licking a slow, steady stripe all the way back to her ear before using his teeth to nibble on her earlobe.

Her gasp has him lifting his head to meet her gaze, and he is blindsided by her beauty. Her lips, red and swollen, her pale skin flushed and sweaty, is the most wonderous thing. He did that. He brought her to this state, and knowing she wants him just as desperately as he wants her strengthens his resolve to focus on her needs first.

“I’ll have you know, Miss Stark,” he begins, his hand grazing along the underside of her breast before gliding down her stomach, “I have every intention of taking my time with you.” His touch crosses the auburn curls covering her sex, one of his fingers slipping through her wet folds.

“Ungh, Jaime . . .” she moans, spreading her legs wider when he starts circling her pearl in a firm, rhythmic fashion. “Tell me . . . tell me what you want . . . what you’re going to do . . .”

His green eyes widen at her response, egging him on. “I want to make you peak with my fingers first,” he says, drawing another gasp from her. He studies her, gaging her reaction. He memorizes every wrinkle of her brow and parting of her lips as she rocks her in hips in time with his motions. “I cannot wait to watch you come undone.”

“Oh, oh, God . . . like that . . .”

He grins uncontrollably, so pleased with himself. He is unsure whether it his hand or mouth that is sending her over the edge so quickly, so he decides to keep using both. “Then I am going to taste you. Mmm, I bet you taste so fucking sweet.”

“Holy _shit_.” She groans loudly, her eyes rolling backward.

Encouraged, Jaime leans forward, his hot breath ghosting against her ear as her hips move frantically, chasing her release. “And then, I’m going to lick you and suck you. I’m going to lick and suck that pussy of yours until you scream my name with my tongue still inside you.”

“Yes, yes - oh!” she shouts, her grasp on his arms tightening like a vice. Her legs tremor and her hips still, and then she is pulsing around his finger. The image of Sansa orgasming imprints itself into his brain, a sinful, sexy snapshot for him and _only_ him. 

While she floats back to earth, he nuzzles her neck, placing feather-light kisses here and there. He has yearned to hold her, to touch her, to make love to her for so long, he is almost too afraid to look up. He is scared that if he opens his eyes, all of this will have been nothing more than one hell of a vivid daydream.

Yet when she relaxes, he dares to look, and when he does, he cannot breathe. Her long, red hair is splayed across his pillow, a satisfied, crooked grin on her face. She is so beautiful, so utterly beautiful, so amazing and wonderful and perfect and she is here, with him.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“Say it again.”

She giggles, biting her lip. “I love you.”

 _She loves me,_ he thinks as she gently strokes his face, caressing his jaw and gliding her thumb along his lips. A lump rises in his throat, and it is all he can do not to choke. “I love you, too, Sansa. I love you so, so much.”

Her grin stretches, her eyes dampening. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“Because I was a coward,” he replies truthfully, stroking her sweaty curls off her forehead.

“You weren’t the only one.” She sighs, tracing his jawline with her fingers. “To think, I could’ve been lying here with you months ago.”

“You’re lying here with me now, and that is all that matters.” 

“Speaking of lying with you . . .” she begins, pausing to bite her lip.

Jaime’s green eyes narrow. 

“Does this mean I can sleep in your bed now once I move in?”

Surprised, he cannot contain his laughter. “Yes, you can sleep in my bed.” His laughter dies quickly, however, when she caresses him over his boxers, hardening him all over again.

“So, I know you have big plans and all,” she says as she pushes against his chest to get him to roll over onto his back, “and I really want you to follow through with them, trust me, but . . . I kind of had some plans of my own.”

“Oh?” He wets his lips when she climbs onto his lap and slips her fingers into the waistband of his boxers. “And what were they?”

She shoots him a wink. “You’ll see.” As she scoots down his thighs, she drags his underwear with her. He lifts his hips, his erection springing free, and once they are off, she tosses them to the bedroom floor. When she takes him in hand, he almost sobs.

“Sansa, you don’t . . . have to . . . _oh_ . . .” He cannot speak, cannot think, cannot form a coherent thought when her mouth kisses the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to trace the rim.

“Are you objecting, counselor?” she asks before she licks a stripe all the way from the base to the tip. He gurgles when she opens wide, completely engulfing him. 

“Christ, no.” He loses all sense of time and space while her hand and mouth work in tandem. He melds with his past and his future, all thoughts of what might have been or what might be fixating on the here and now. His flesh is tense and taut, a smooth, sudden sense of power bubbling to the surface. The rising pressure in his gut eases when her mouth releases him with a sticky slurp, and when he manages to crack open his eyes, there she is, hovering over him, giving him that lopsided grin of hers that always makes his heart race.

“Condom?” she asks, her eyebrow arching.

“Nightstand,” he barely squeaks.

She giggles as she fishes a foil packet out of the drawer, and he smiles like an idiot, too far gone to care how wrecked he sounds or that there is probably a layer of dust an inch thick on that wrapper she has in her hands, considering how long it has been for him. It is ripped open swiftly, though, and he helps her roll it onto him.

As she descends, she guides him inside, taking him inch by inch. He grips her hips, but not too tightly, letting her take the lead. He bites down on his lip, willing himself to exhibit enough self-control so that he does not spill before she unlocks her second release. 

“Mmm,” she moans, slowly swirling her hips back and forth, around and around as she finds the right rhythm. Her breasts sway while she rocks, her hair cascading down her shoulders and partially cloaking them. 

“I _love_ watching you like this,” he says, allowing his hands to roam.

Her eyes open and she smiles at him. “Talk to me.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing.”

She swats his chest, grinning at him. “You know what I mean. Talk _dirty_ to me, counselor.”

His blond brows rise, his tongue gliding along his lips. _I’m going to die. I’m going to die, right here, with Sansa riding me. Tyrion will have a field day with my obituary._

“If you insist.” He raises his hips off the bed just enough to make her gasp. “I wish you could see yourself right now, how fucking sexy you are.”

Her eyes close, her moan sending a wave of heat right through him. 

“You feel so good wrapped around my cock . . . spread wide, taking all of me like that.” His hands glide down her body, one landing on a hip while the other lands on her pussy. He uses his thumb to work that bud of hers while she rides him, and when she whines, he grins. He cannot believe how hot it is to talk to her like this and to know she enjoys every minute of it.

“Do you even know how wet you are?” he says, picking up the pace. Tugging her hip, he encourages her to do the same, which she obliges him immediately.

“It’s all for you,” she murmurs, her voice raw and raspy, her hips swirling, rocking back and forth, “all for you . . .”

Jaime swallows, forcing himself to resist the urge to roll her over and pound into her. He is mesmerized by her perfect, round tits bouncing and swaying, tempting him. He cannot wait to get his mouth on them again, and then he remembers, he does not have to.

“Come here,” he growls, pulling her down until her tits are right above his face and her hands are on either side of his head. She gasps when he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, and she cries out when he braces himself on the bed with his feet so he can lift his hips and slam into her.

“More, Jaime,” she begs, her eyes clamping shut as he thrusts inside her. “More!”

“You have _no_ idea what I want to do to you,” he says before moving to her other breast.

“Tell me!”

Jaime closes his eyes, letting go. “I want . . . I want you hard and fast,” he admits, his tongue pausing to flick a hardened peak. “Let you know how crazy you make me.”

“Oh, God!” she shouts, meeting his body thrust for thrust. 

“I want you slow and easy, make it last all night.”

“Yes, yes!”

“I – _fuck_ – want to take you from behind . . . want you to ride my face . . .” The slippery, wet sound of skin meeting skin echoes in his bedroom. He grits his teeth. He is so close, so fucking close, his gut is in knots. “Are you close, baby? Can you come for me?”

“I . . . I . . . _Jaime_!” Her scream fades as her release swallows her whole. He cannot hold back any longer, his hands clutching her hips tighter while he scrambles for relief. One, two, three, yes, God, he is there, gliding through the air, soaring to the clouds, blissfully aware that his soul is singing. He is boneless, worthless, unable to move.

Sansa slumps into a heap on top of him, panting as hard as he is. “That . . .” she says, her voice muffled by his chest. “That was amazing.

“It was.”

“Like, absolutely the best sex _ever._ ”

Eyes still locked shut, the corner of his mouth tilts. He should not be so damn prideful, but he is. “Why, thank you. I would have to agree.”

She giggles, lifting her head and supporting it with a hand while the other traces a random pattern in his chest hair. “For the record, I had no idea you had such a dirty mouth, counselor.”

“You bring out the best in me.”

Her tracing fingers stop. “I do?”

With his heart rate descending out of the danger zone, Jaime’s eyes crack open, and he is struck by the worry on her face, like she cannot believe he really means it. It angers him to think that someone, somewhere – probably his own stupid nephew - treated this glorious being in such a manner that she would ever doubt she is the best thing that ever happened to him.

“You do.” He cups her face, staring straight into her baby blues. “You always have, and you always will. At least, I hope you will since I can’t imagine my life without you in it now.” When Sansa tears up, he kisses the tip of her nose, the edge of her cheek, the space between her brows. He smiles at her, relieved that she does the same. 

“Me too,” she says.

Her words empower him, and he takes a leap of faith. “I know we’ve gone from friends to roommates to lovers in less than an hour, but I’m serious when I say this: I don’t ever want to let you go.”

A lone tear trickles from the corner of her eye down the side of her nose. “Me too.”

When her lips press softly against his, Jaime inhales deeply. _You were right, darling,_ he thinks as they kiss. _You can’t blame everything on the eggnog._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What starts out as a glorious day back at work heads south quickly for Jaime and Sansa.

Stuffed in the back of the elevator while they make their way to their high-rise law office one floor at a time, Jaime steals the opportunity to reach for Sansa’s hand. Still staring straight ahead, she lightly squeezes his in return, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement. A slight bump of shoulders is the only other physical contact he gets before she releases his hand and shoots him a sly wink, which puts his stomach in knots.

As the doors part once again to let passengers off and on, Jaime faces forward, grinning like an idiot. How he will pretend that they are nothing more than colleagues is beyond him. After the glorious weekend spent together – out of his bed no more than thirty minutes at a whack before chasing each other back into the sheets – it will take every ounce of his courtroom charm to act like nothing is amiss. It will take every fiber of his being not to reach out to hold her hand when sitting beside her in the conference room or yank her into his office and lock the door behind them.

When the elevator finally reaches their destination, they quickly exit and head to the glass double-doors of Lannister & Associates. Holding the door open for her, he cannot contain his smile.

“Good morning, Sansa,” he says, trying his best to keep an even tone and not think about how she cried out his name while he had his face buried in her privates only a few hours ago.

“Morning, counselor,” she replies as she scooches past him, her hand discreetly gliding across the crotch of his impeccably tailored suit pants while she enters the law office ahead of him. “Have a good day!”

Jaime grits his teeth. “Same . . . to you.” His smile resurfaces when she glances over her shoulder before she disappears down the long hallway leading toward her office. He swears he hears the little minx giggling the whole way.

As he heads to his own office, his feet barely touch the ground. He is euphoric, riding a post-orgasmic high thanks to a wonderful weekend spent in Sansa’s arms. Humming to himself the entire way, he nods politely at everyone he passes, greeting his fellow attorneys and the support staff as if he has never truly seen them until today. 

It is funny how things can change so quickly in a man’s life.

“Good morning, Mr. Lannister,” his administrative assistant says as he approaches her desk.

“It most certainly is.” He grins from ear to ear as she hands him his messages. “You certainly look lovely today, Brella. Is that a new blouse?”

Stunned that her boss noticed such a thing, let alone mentioned it, she peers at him over her thick glasses. “Yes, sir.”

“Gucci, right?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, it is.”

His head tilts while he examines her attire instead of his messages. “It definitely has a seventies vibe with the tonal monogramming and crêpe de chin fabric, but I must say, the dusty rose color really brings out the golden undertones in your hair. Lovely choice.”

Brella’s mouth gapes to her neckline. “Thank you, Mr. Lannister.”

“You’re welcome.” Jaime chuckles. Y _ou can still recognize a designer’s work from a thousand paces._ “And Brella, hold my calls if you would, please. I need to focus on the Bolton trial prep, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Mr. Lannister,” she replies as he walks past her desk into his office and shuts the door. 

Once inside, he chucks his briefcase onto the floor by his desk and flops into his office chair. He spins around a couple of times, tapping the arms with his fingertips before he hops out and heads to the window. Leaning on the frame, he stares at the bleak, gray morning sky, counting the string of dark snow clouds shuffling by. Bored quickly with that activity, he returns to his chair and boots up his computer. The welcome screen takes forever like it always does, so he checks his Rolex.

Jaime sighs.

He has been at work less than ten minutes, and already he is counting down the seconds until he can lay eyes on a certain junior associate who has stolen his heart.

Scrubbing his chin, Jaime reminds himself that he needs to work, not chase Sansa down so he can kiss her senseless. Trying to distract himself, he grabs a few folders and dives in head-first, but the words blur as visions of Sansa sitting on his private balcony Sunday morning, swaddled in a thick blanket and sipping coffee, invade his consciousness. He closes his eyes, losing himself to the memory.

Releasing a heavy breath, Jaime snaps out of his reverie, opening his eyes as he throws the folders back onto the stack. He cannot stop thinking about her. He really must figure out how he can juggle being in love and being productive.

Determined to focus on the many tasks needing his attention, he starts scrolling through his emails, yet still only halfway paying attention as his conversation with Sansa on the cab ride into work today churns in his brain. Once again, he reassured her that his father would not fire her just because she dumped his grandson. Even though Tywin Lannister might worship his legacy more than life itself, he is still a bottom-line kind of guy. Sansa produces – Joffrey does not. If it comes down to choosing who stays on staff, it should be a no-brainer.

Jaime runs his hands through his hair as he falls back into his office chair.

It is no use. He is going to be worthless today. Absolutely worthless.

Rising to his feet, he decides that maybe a little trip to the break room is in order. Yes, a cup of coffee is just what he needs. A cup of coffee would be a welcome distraction from his already distracted state of mind.

“I’m going to go grab some coffee,” he calls out to Brella as he bursts out of his office. “Back in a minute.”

“But, Mr. Lannister, I’d be happy to get that for - ”

“Thank you, but there’s no need,” he replies cheerfully, holding his hand up to halt her in her tracks. “I can fetch it myself.” While on route to the break room, he starts humming again, unable to contain his glee. He is in love, and it feels _so_ damn good. He wants to tell everyone he passes, wants to jerk open a window and shout from the rooftops of Manhattan that Sansa Stark, the most beautiful, brilliant woman on the planet, is his. He must wait, however, since he promised her that they would, at least until she has had a chance to talk to his father about what happened between her and Joffrey.

To be honest, it is probably smart to wait for the big reveal until enough time has passed so that the shock of finding out who she is with now is not so . . . well, shocking. If everyone were to find out today that she broke things off with Joffrey for his uncle, then the office gossip mill would grind the two of them into a very fine powder indeed. And besides - dear old dad might die of a heart attack once he discovered that Sansa not only dumped his philandering grandson but also took on his eldest son as a lover right after moving in with him – all in the same weekend.

“ _Just give it a week,” Sansa asked while dining in at the Taqueria y Fonda on Saturday night after they had collected her few belongings from her apartment and brought them back to his place. “Let me handle things with your dad and let folks get over the drama you know Joffrey will cause come Monday. Then we will tell everyone about us.” Grabbing his hand, she offered a sweet smile. “I promise you, Jaime - I cannot wait until everyone knows how much I love you.”_

Still hiding in the break room to evade his workload, Jaime’s lips curl and curl just thinking about the sparkle in her eyes when she had said that. She loves him, and if she wants to wait, then so be it. He blows on his coffee, taking a slow, easy sip. Patience has never been one of his strongest virtues, but for her, he will try, even if his brain implodes in the process. 

“There you are! Thank God I found you.”

Confused by the tension in Tyrion’s voice, Jaime turns to the doorway where his younger brother stands. “What’s going on?”

“Joffrey is on the rampage - that’s what’s going on,” he replies, motioning for Jaime to follow him. “Sansa broke up with him this weekend, and while she was talking with Father, Joffrey barged in. He’s in there, right now, demanding that Father fire her.”

_Oh, fuck . . ._

In a flash, Jaime is slamming his mug onto the counter and running out of the break room, Tyrion following closely behind.

“How in the hell do you even know all of that?” Jaime shouts over his shoulder as they race through the hallways, dodging people the entire distance.

“I drink and I know things,” Tyrion says flatly, “but in this case, it was a whole lot easier with Joffrey screaming at the top of his lungs like he is.”

Jaime groans. This is exactly what Sansa was afraid of. He should never have let her go alone.

The brothers fall silent as they make their way to their father’s office. As they approach, Jaime’s distress ratchets up even further. Joffrey’s yelling is wafting through the closed office door, his anger at a fever pitch. Several attorneys and support staff are huddled together in small clusters in the office area, whispering among themselves while they eavesdrop on the tasty scene as it unfolds.

 _So much for things dying down quickly,_ Jaime thinks to himself as he finally arrives on the scene.

“I want her gone!” Joffrey yells at the top of his lungs, asserting his inflated sense of entitlement. Tywin’s reply cannot be overheard, but whatever he says sets Joffrey off like a firecracker. “Didn’t you hear me? I want that no-good bitch gone right now, or there will be hell to pay!”

The crowd inhales sharply, another wave of murmuring washing over the entire group and muting the rest of Joffrey’s empty threat.

Jaime’s jaw clenches, his fists balling into rocks. 

Nobody treats Sansa like that. 

Not on his watch.

Before Tyrion can stop him, Jaime is bursting through his father’s office door, storming inside and marching straight for his nephew, who is leaning over his ex-girlfriend like he means to intimidate her.

“How dare you talk to her like that!” Jaime snarls as he stalks toward Joffrey.

“Fuck off.” Joffrey scoffs as he rises to his full height. “I’ll talk to the little slut however I choose.”

Jaime’s anger reaches the boiling point. “God, you’re a spoiled little fucker, aren’t you?” Before Joffrey knows what hit him, Jaime is grabbing the front of his shirt and placing him in a choke hold. While Joffrey screams, Jaime drags him out of the office into the open area where the baffled onlookers watch the scene unfold. In a frenzy, Joffrey struggles to break free, but his uncle is too strong.

“Jaime, no - wait!” Sansa is out of her seat, rushing out of the office as well. “Let him go!” She is hot on Jaime’s heels, desperate for him to release Joffrey, but he is too livid to listen.

“Get off me!” Joffrey yells as he claws at his uncle’s arms, but still Jaime hangs on.

“If you ever talk to Sansa like that again,” Jaime says quietly in Joffrey’s ear, “I will take you over my knee and treat you like the rotten brat you are!”

“Please, Jaime!” Sansa cries out. “Stop!”

“Enough!” Tywin’s deep, crisp voice booms, freezing everyone present in their tracks, including Jaime and Joffrey. Hands neatly folded behind his back, Tywin glides out of his office, emerging like a lion carefully assessing its kill. His long, lean legs carry him in an instant to his son and grandson. “I’ve had quite my fill of this wretched little show,” he continues in his usual, matter-of-fact tone. His green eyes narrow, boring holes into his oldest son. “You heard the lady. Release him.”

His father’s icy delivery sends a shiver straight up Jaime’s spine. For a moment, he is sixteen again and just told his father that he is not going to law school so he can instead move to Paris and get a job working at House Chanel. Jaime swallows the lump rising in his throat and does as he is told.

“And you,” Tywin says, turning his attention to Joffrey, who is busy acting like nothing is wrong while he smooths out the wrinkles of his dress shirt. “Collect your things and go home. You are taking the week off, effective immediately. 

Joffrey is mortified that he is being punished. “But that’s not fair! You can’t - ”

“ – I can, and I will.” Tywin gets in his grandson’s personal space, causing Joffrey to cower. “Go home to your mother and let her lick your wounds before your vacation becomes permanent.”

Glancing about the office, Joffrey snorts like he could care less. “Fine. Whatever.” As he walks by Jaime, he bumps his shoulder on purpose, and when Jaime leans forward like he means to get into his nephew’s business again, Sansa grabs his upper arm, holding him back.

Without warning Joffrey halts in his tracks as he makes his way out of the office area. Slowly turning around to face his uncle, Joffrey grins. “Don’t ever threaten me again, Uncle Jaime, or I just might tell everyone how you fucked my girlfriend behind my back.”

Gasps of shock echo throughout the office.

“Uh oh.” Joffrey’s tuts his tongue behind his teeth before he sneers. “It looks like I’m too late. Everybody already knows.” With his parting salvo, Joffrey quickly shuffles out before his uncle decides to follow through on his threat after all.

Jaime’s eyes blow wide, his lungs unable to draw in enough breath. Joffrey’s words hang in the air like a cloud of volcanic ash, threatening to suffocate Jaime where he stands. He looks down at Sansa, who is covering her face with her hands, and suddenly it clicks. She was trying to get him to stand down because Joffrey knew. Somehow, Joffrey found out about the two of them, and she was afraid he would let the proverbial cat out of the bag if push came to shove, which it in fact did.

“Perhaps we should take this back into the office,” Tyrion says, clearing his throat.

Tywin huffs. “Thank God someone has had a good idea today.” Spinning on his Louis Vuittons, he faces the crowd, still lingering in case another act might follow. “I trust that you people would like to stay gainfully employed, yes? Then get back to work!” Immediately everyone scatters like frightened rats, scurrying about as they try to escape Tywin’s harsh scowl.

“How . . .” Jaime’s tongue is three sizes too large as he processes the unexpected turn of events. “How could Joffrey have known about us?”

“Your father had me followed,” Sansa says softly. She drops her hands and meets his perplexed gaze. “He’s had me followed for months now. At least, that’s what he said in his office.”

“What . . . the . . .”

“Joffrey asked him to, apparently, after I accidentally slipped and called him ‘Jaime’ while we were . . .” Her words trickle away, and she is unable to look at her lover. “I guess Joffrey wasn’t the only cheater around here after all.”

Jaime’s brain is swelling with the sudden knowledge that his father has been spying on his grandson’s girlfriend – _his_ girlfriend.

“You and your brother,” Tywin calls out to Jaime, jerking his attention his way. “In my office. _Now_.” When Tywin’s cold eyes fixate on Sansa, her grasp on Jaime’s arm tightens. “You have ten minutes to clean out your desk and turn in your badge with security. Good day, Miss Stark.” With his parting salvo, Tywin disappears inside his office.

“Sansa, wait - ” Jaime begins, refusing to let go as she tries to pull away from him.

“You heard your dad,” she whispers, refusing to look at him. “I have to go.”

Jaime shakes his head, unable to accept it. “No. No, I won’t let him do this.”

She presses her eyes closed. “It’s too late.”

The terseness of her reply frightens him. “Sansa, please . . . we can - ”

“Let me go, Jaime,” she answers him. Their eyes meet, and as she cradles his jaw, she gives him a slight smile though her tears are bubbling to the surface. “Please . . . you have to let me go.” His hand goes numb when she gently pulls from his grasp, and as he watches her walk away, his heart plummets to his gut. There is a horrible, horrible finality in the way she is leaving, and it threatens to overwhelm him.

“Come on,” Tyrion says quietly as he nudges Jaime toward their father’s office. “Let’s go get this over with.”

Jaime cannot move.

His feet are glued to the spot where he stands.

And just like that, she is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so don't tar and feather me just yet. I promise, the angst will resolve itself in the next chapter . . . I think. *clicks post and hides under the table*


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choosing love over duty, Jaime finally stands up to his father, a decision that will change his life forever.

Pacing like a caged animal, Jaime’s long legs make short work of the distance from wall to window while his younger brother and father continue to argue. For ten minutes straight, those two have been debating the long-term consequences of Sansa’s abrupt termination, and even though Jaime has plenty to say about the way things were handled, he has chosen to remain silent because like always, when dear old dad believes he is in the right, come hell or high water, he will not admit any fault. 

“I don’t care if you were trying to do damage control,” Tyrion says, his ire rising the more their father refutes his arguments. “You really should have waited to let her go until you talked with us first.”

“I’m the managing partner here,” Tywin replies tersely, ignoring Tyrion while he watches his oldest son wear a rut in the carpet. “I don’t need to consult you or your brother before I make a decision about who does or doesn’t work here.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “No one is doubting your position of authority, Father. But the _way_ you chose to fire Sansa – in public, mind you, and without just cause – you’ve opened us up to one hell of a lawsuit if she decides to fight back.”

“Have you forgotten that New York is an employment-at-will state?”

“No, of course, not, but that doesn’t mean - ”

“But nothing,” Tywin cuts in, waving his hand to shelve any further objections. “It means I can fire anyone I choose for any reason or no reason at all. Period.”

“Yes, that’s true, but that only applies if the employee in question doesn’t have a clause in their contract which prohibits - ”

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t bother to review her contract before letting her go?” Tywin chuckles. “Really, Tyrion. You disappoint me.”

While Tyrion collapses into his chair and scrubs his face in frustration, Jaime growls under his breath as he makes his way to the window once again. Bracing himself on the frame, he gazes down at the city below. Like his younger brother, he is sick and tired of their father’s smugness and his lack of concern for anything other than preserving his imagined integrity of the Lannister name. Unlike Tyrion, however, Jaime is through playing their father’s mind games.

“That’s all we ever do, isn’t it?” he asks, not looking his father’s direction.

Tywin’s eyes narrow. “Is _what_ all you ever do?”

“Disappoint you.” 

“You certainly disappointed me when you chose to shack up with a girl who slept with your nephew _and_ was your subordinate to boot.” Tywin’s comment has Jaime on edge, his jaw clenching and his entire body stiffening like a board. “Next time you need a piece of ass, consult your brother. I’m sure his latest conquest knows plenty of warm, willing women who will gladly fill your bed for a weekend.”

When Tyrion groans, Jaime laughs, but it is not out of merriment. “So supportive as always, aren’t you, Father?”

“If you thought for one minute that I would approve of your little liaison, then you need to have your head examined.” Tywin’s eyes snap toward his youngest son, who slouches in his seat under their father’s icy glare. “Both of you do.”

Tywin’s firm, calm way of speaking rankles Jaime to the core, just like it always does when Father chews his ass like he is a naughty child caught stealing a cookie out of the jar. “But I thought you wanted me to meet someone, to settle down. That’s your dream, right? Me finding a wife and breeding the next generation of Lannister lawyers?”

The wheels of Tywin’s leather executive chair squeak when he shoves backward and rises to his feet. “For God’s sake, Jaime, would you for once take your position in this family and in this firm seriously?”

Jaime looks away then, his eyes unfocused as they peer out the window.

“I have poured my life into the two of you,” Tywin continues, stalking toward his oldest son. “I’ve given you the best of everything money can buy, and thanks to me, you are educated, wealthy, well-connected men who can have their pick of the finest, most eligible young women in all of Manhattan. Yet whom do the two of you choose to roll in the hay with, mmm?” An arm’s length from Jaime, Tywin’s cold eyes bounce between his offspring. “Your nephew’s cast-offs and a working-class girl from Camden.”

“You know, Joffrey is technically the one who was cast off, so . . .” Tyrion pauses, causing Jaime to chuckle.

Tywin’s hateful glare cuts to his younger son. “Is everything a joke to you?”

Tyrion opens his mouth to answer, but Jaime does it for him. “No, but this meeting is.” He shoves off the window frame, blasting past his father as he storms toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Jaime grabs the handle but does not turn to look back at his father. “Home. To Sansa, if I’m lucky enough to find her there.”

“I am not finished with you yet, boy.”

His father’s words make his stomach lurch. “I am _not_ a boy, and I haven’t been for quite some time, not that you’ve noticed.” Jaime wheels around to face him, and for the first time since he can remember, he refuses to bend to his father’s iron fist. “I love her, Father. I love Sansa with everything that I am, and I won’t give her up. Not for you, not for the firm . . . not for anyone.”

“You will if you know what is good for you.”

His father’s implied threat does not sway him. “I don’t care about my education or my wealth or my connections, and you damn well know that. I never wanted it – any of it,” he says, sweeping his hand around him.

“Walk out that door,” Tywin says, his tone colder than ice, “and you are not welcome here anymore.”

Jaime’s lips purse as he looks toward his brother. Tyrion’s eyes crinkle at the corners, giving his older brother all the encouragement that he needs. “Give my regards to Brella, would you?” he asks Tyrion right before he yanks open the office door and heads into the office area.

“Jaime!” his father calls out to him, but he ignores him. “Come back here right now!”

The ride down the elevator is the longest ride of his life, his need to separate himself from everything Lannister at a record high. He tries texting Sansa as he descends, hoping she will reply, but the silence on her end overwhelms him. His phone call goes straight to her voice mail, which only heightens his sense of urgency to find her.

The Manhattan skyline whizzes by him as he heads to his apartment, and after offering the cab driver an extra hundred if he can get him there in ten instead of twenty, Jaime mentally scrolls through a litany of places she might have gone once she left the firm. She could have gone for a walk to clear her head, maybe stopping at Ole & Steen to snag one of those lemon cardamon pastries she loves so much. She could have popped over to the Museum of Modern Art to spend time wandering about the exhibits until she felt like dealing with everything that happened this morning. 

Or she could have gone straight to the apartment, collected her things, and took a cab to the airport to book a flight back home to Allagash. To be honest, he would not fault her any if that were her plan. He just hopes Bronn will be able to track down one of the Starks’ telephone numbers if she continues to ignore his attempts to contact her.

Stuck at yet another red light, he chastises himself for not going after her when he had the chance. He should have bolted after her, chased her down, and dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness for not being there with her when Joffrey and his father double-teamed her. He should have apologized for her being dragged into the middle of yet another one of his crazy family’s mixed-up dramas. He should have done a lot of things other than blindly follow Tyrion into their father’s office when he had a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing their father that she deserved better.

Jaime is out of the cab before it comes to a complete stop by the curb outside his building, shoving triple his fare into the cabbie’s surprised hands before launching himself toward the entrance. He makes a note to apologize to Dontos, the doorman, the next time he sees him for ignoring his welcome home. All the way up the elevator he checks his phone, praying to see a new notification that Sansa tried to reach him, but his disappointment is heavy as he reaches his floor with no signs of communication.

When the elevator doors open and he exits, he is almost in tears. Nothing could be worse than going inside his place to find her gone. He closes his eyes as his key enters the lock, his stomach twisting like the brass in his hand as he shoves open the door. The gasp bursting out of his mouth echoes in his living space when he catches sight of Sansa, still clad in her work clothes, standing on his private balcony as she gazes out into the cloudy, mid-morning skies.

As he slowly approaches the sliding glass door, his anxiety eases as he drinks in the beauty of his lover while she braves the freezing temperatures sans her coat. Her long curls, unpinned from her working woman updo, flow freely down her back, and the slight winter wind makes them dance around her in a ring of fire. Her pale cheeks are flushed from the bitter cold, her arms wrapped around her white cowl neck sweater as she hugs herself, lost deep in thought. He worries that she must be freezing out there, what with the light trickle of snowflakes falling from above, but then he remembers she is a northern girl, raised in the snow-covered fields on the banks of the Allagash River. 

Winter is in her blood. 

She was born for this kind of weather.

“Hey,” he calls out to her as he slides open the door and steps onto the balcony. She does not look at him right away, but when her lips lift at the corners, his mind is put at ease with the thought that maybe – just maybe – she is happy he came home.

“Hey, yourself.” She does not look his direction but steps aside so he can stand next to her against the railing. 

Jaime chokes back the urge to click his heels that she is still speaking to him after the way he behaved earlier. “I’m so glad I found you,” he gushes as he takes his place beside her. “You had me worried when you wouldn’t answer your phone.” His words make her grimace, and he wishes he could eat every last one of them.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes still fixated straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” She exhales slowly, her shoulders relaxing as she glances his direction. “I guess I forgot to turn my phone back on after the meeting with your dad.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he says, his nerves tingling when she looks back over the horizon. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.” A moment passes in silence while he struggles with what to say next. “I really am sorry for the way I acted back at the office. I should have listened to you and not overreacted instead of trying to clean Joffrey’s clock.”

Sansa laughs, giving him hope that all is not lost. “You know, there are a lot of people who would pay good money to see that.” Her eyes land on him again, and her grin soothes the ache in his heart. “I know you were only trying to protect me, Jaime. Really, I do. And trust me – it wasn’t anything you did that upset me.” Once again, her eyes drift back toward the river. “I just needed some time alone to think is all.”

Jaime says nothing as he inches closer to her, unsure if he should touch her or not, unsure if she even _wants_ him to. He hates the uncertainty between them, the not knowing how she feels about him anymore or what comes next.

“The city sure is beautiful today,” she adds, releasing a slow, steady breath.

Scanning the chaos that is Manhattan on a Monday morning, Jaime chuckles. “You might be the only person within a hundred-mile radius that thinks so.”

Still fixated on the view, her grin widens. “I just love winter. It’s my favorite time of year.”

“I imagined it might be,” he replies, taking a risk and nudging her with his shoulder. He is elated that she bumps his in return.

“When I was a little kid, I was always so excited when Daddy told us that winter was coming,” she says, her whole face alight with memories of her youth. “My family would spend hours outside, ice fishing or ice skating or riding snow mobiles with my cousin and our foster brother. We loved the freedom of hiking around the property on our own and getting lost in the woods for a while.” Her heavy sigh scratches at his heart. “I really miss those days sometimes.”

“When was the last time you saw your parents? Your sister, or your brothers?”

Sansa pauses. “I haven’t made a trip home since moving here.” Inhaling and exhaling slowly, her gaze drops to her boots. “I didn’t have the time, really, what with the workload I carried and . . . well, my other commitments.”

Jaime nods as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the railing. The pair say nothing for a few minutes, both continuing to stare out across the city landscape, but before long, the temperature finally gets to him, sending a string of shivers up and down his skin protected only by his suit jacket and dress shirt. Rising to his full height, he contemplates jogging back inside to grab his coat from the entryway closet, but he is distracted when Sansa’s arms wrap around him without warning, shooting a wave of warmth right through him.

“I wish you could see it up there . . . back home . . .” She burrows against him, nuzzling against his chest as he envelops her in a snug embrace. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Nothing can compare to your beauty, but perhaps it is a close second.” His stomach flips once, then twice, when she laughs again, and the relief that she still wants to be near him and to be held by him lifts his soul like an eagle.

“You know what I was thinking about when you found me?” she asks him. Her eyes search his face, her eagerness to tell him written all over it.

“Shoving Joffrey off a cliff?” 

His comment makes Sansa snort. “No, that wasn’t it. But that sounds like something I would think.”

“What, then?”

“I was thinking that now that I’m out of a job, maybe it’s time I venture back north.” 

“As in, relocate?”

“Mm-hmm.” She pauses, gnawing her lip while he digests the insinuation. “What do you think about that?”

Jaime’s pulse thrums inside his veins. _She is leaving,_ he thinks as he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. _She wants to leave, but I can’t blame her for it._ “I think that if returning home is what you need right now, then you should go for it.” He hopes that he sounds as supportive as he is attempting to be.

“You wouldn’t be upset?”

“It doesn’t matter. Your happiness is all that matters to me.”

Her eyes drop, focusing instead on the buttons of his dress shirt. “So, you wouldn’t hate me, then?”

“Sansa,” he begins, swallowing down his pride and his desire to beg her to stay with him forever, “I will never, _ever,_ hate you. I could never do such a thing. How could you even ask me such a thing?”

“Because I screwed everything up for you and your family, and now I want to tuck tail and leave.”

He lifts her chin, insisting that she looks at him. “You did nothing of the sort.”

“But - ”

“Wanting to go back home is not the same as tucking tail,” he begins, smiling down at her as he speaks. “There is no crime in wanting to be near the ones you love. And, for the record, counselor, my family was screwed up long before Sansa Stark moved to Manhattan and stole my heart.” He allows himself a moment to study every detail about her, to memorize every nuance and every feature before she walks out of his life once and for all. “My only wish is that I had warned you the day you arrived so I might have saved you the misery.”

Sansa grins. “Not _everything_ about my experience with Lannister & Associates has been miserable.” 

A sense of hope flutters in his gut, a sensation that he dared not allow until now. “Is that so?” he asks as she lifts onto her tiptoes, and when her mouth presses against his, soft and gentle, he resists his desire to scoop her up and carry her straight to his – to _their_ – bedroom. Instead, he forces himself to let her lead, to let her take from him whatever it is she needs in that moment. As their kisses shift into deeper waters, he loses track of time, his brain walling up his fear that soon she will be gone, and it is not until she pulls away that he remembers they were in the middle of one hell of a serious conversation.

“Come with me,” she mutters without introduction. 

Jaime blinks, yet his tongue will not cooperate. He is stunned, too stupefied to speak. He cannot believe his ears.

Sansa wants him. She not only wants him, but she wants him to follow her back home to Maine.

“I know you’re a city-boy, born and bred, and that Allagash is cold and small and everything that Manhattan isn’t,” she rambles, her nervous, rapid-fire stream of consciousness hitting him faster than he can process, “but I promise you - you would love it up there. At least, you’ll love it once you adjust to the lack of nightlife. Or eating out, since there’s only one restaurant in town. And now that Uncle Brynden is retired, Daddy lost his partner, which means he definitely needs another attorney on staff to help him juggle his caseload since he has such a wide territory to cover. I just know he’d be thrilled to have me working in his law office. And, of course, I’m sure once I tell Daddy about us, he would either offer you a position or help us find you - ”

“Yes.”

“ – one over in Fort Kent with . . . wait, what did you just say?”

“I said, yes.”

Sansa gasps. “Really? You mean it? You’ll come with me?”

Jaime cannot contain his excitement any longer. He grabs her by the waist and hoists her into the air, delighting in her shriek of surprise. “I will gladly move smack dab into the middle of the North Woods and live in a cabin for the rest of my life if it means we’re together!” he shouts, twirling her round and round.

“It’s not too soon?” she cries out as they spin. “You don’t think I’m moving too fast?”

Before he answers, he slows the two of them down, letting her body slide down his until her boots hit the balcony. Holding both her hands, he stares straight into her bright blue eyes, basking in the love she radiates back at him.

Everything he has ever wanted is his. Everything he has ever longed to embrace is standing before him, everything he dreamed of becoming now within his reach. The freedom and the power and the knowledge that Sansa loves him is exhilarating.

“You want moving fast?” he blurts out before he loses his nerve. “How’s this for moving fast . . . marry me.” While her mouth bounces off her chest, he drops to a knee. “Marry me, Sansa. Marry me now, marry me tomorrow, or marry me thirty years from now, but please, for the love of God, tell me that this is it. Tell me that you and I are together forever.”

“Yes! God, yes!” As he clambers to his feet, she pounces, almost knocking him over. Mouths unite as hands explore, their moans and whimpers fanning the flames of their mutual desire. Lifting her into his arms, Jaime fumbles with the sliding glass door, jerking it open and slamming it shut as he carries Sansa straight to the bedroom.

He is not sure if it is the heat from the vents inside the apartment or the heat from deep inside his gut that has him roasting alive, but it doesn’t matter. They giggle as they undress each other, both giddy and silly and filled with the need to be connected. And when they make love, it is glorious and wonderful and the perfect end to the perfect beginning.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after walking out of Lannister & Associates, Jaime reflects on his new life up north with Sansa.

Swiveling back and forth in his office chair, Jaime stares out the window, mindlessly drumming his Montblanc on his knee while watching the never-ending stream of snowfall pummel the ground outside his studio. For hours, he has tried to focus on the unfinished projects needing his attention but to no avail. Even on a Saturday afternoon, when he is all alone and there are no distractions around to distract him, he cannot stop thinking about Sansa.

Giving in to his urge, he chuckles as he rises from his chair and pads in his sock-covered feet over to the window overlooking the woods, leaning on the frame while the fluffy white clouds coat everything on the property with a thick layer of snow. He shakes his head, still not believing the forecast for the almost two feet predicted to hit between now and tomorrow. As a native New Yorker, he thought he had experienced snow, but moving to northern Maine showed him just how utterly unprepared he was for life in a land that averages almost four times the amount of snowfall per year than Manhattan. He has never cared for the stuff, but it is a small price to pay for the luxury of snuggling at night under the quilts and down-filled comforter with the woman of his dreams.

Jaime’s smile stretches the width of his face just thinking about the beautiful redhead who changed his life so dramatically. In the last two years since he walked out of Lannister & Associates and asked Sansa to marry him, so much has changed, not just in his own life but for those around him as well. He cannot believe how lucky he has been.

Thanks to a lot of time and therapy, his life in New York is becoming nothing more than a distant, bittersweet memory. Sometimes the melancholy returns, especially when his sister texts, trying to guilt him with reminders that it has been ages since he has been back home to see her and the rest of the family. 

Cersei might be his father in a skirt, but she is still his twin, so he always swallows down his anger and answers with the same vague, noncommittal reply – “Maybe next month.” One day, Cersei will catch on that he has no plans to set foot in Manhattan for familial reasons ever again, at least not until Sansa is welcomed with open arms and his father admits his mistakes.

Jaime exhales slowly, trying once again not to dwell on the broken relationship with his father. Instead he focuses on the present and the future, not the past. It is the only thing he can do under the circumstances. True to his word, Father has not spoken with him since the morning he walked out of the office, and to be perfectly honest, he doubts he ever will. One day, though, his father might come around and accept his decision to leave the family firm and abandon his legal career in the process.

At least, that is what Sansa believes. 

But Jaime knows better. 

Tywin Lannister will go to his grave despising her and hating his son for doing the unthinkable – choosing love over duty.

 _So be it, then,_ Jaime thinks as he continues watching the snow fall. _He has made his choice, just like I’ve made mine._

Tyrion, thank God, has not seen fit to disown him. In fact, Tyrion has ventured to Allagash several times since his older brother decided to follow his heart and head north. His fiancée, Shae, loves it up here, and during their visit last summer, she even less-than-subtly suggested during dinner that her husband-to-be should think about joining Jaime and Sansa in their quest for freedom from the Lannisters. Tyrion was not surprised at all by her suggestion since Shae and Sansa have become thick as thieves, colluding and plotting to make the move happen since the very beginning. Thank goodness he was eager to relocate as well, so much so that he has already passed the Maine state bar exam and has his eye on a property not too far down the road from where Jaime and Sansa live.

Jaime chuckles as he imagines his younger brother on a snowmobile, the two of them racing down the snow-covered fields like they were boys again. It is such a joy to see Tyrion so happy these days now that he has left the family firm and no longer lives under their father’s scorn and ridicule for being born the way he is. Now working as an attorney for the Disabilities Advocacy Project over in the Bronx, Tyrion has found a new lease on life, and with Ned and Sansa’s help, he plans to open a similar legal aid clinic to serve the greater northern Maine area once he and Shae move.

Shoving off the window frame, Jaime smiles as he shuffles back to his work desk and snatches his latest sketch off the stack, his long fingers tracing the outline of his latest design. He has no desire to return to law, even though Tyrion has asked him to consider joining him at the new legal clinic. It is ironic since when he and Sansa first moved from Manhattan to her hometown, Jaime assumed that he would follow a similar path as Tyrion: take the bar exam, pass it, and start his legal career all over again. He even filled out the application, but the closer the time came to send it in, the less interested he was.

Jaime closes his eyes, lost in the memory of the very conversation which led to him taking yet another risk – starting his own design business. It had been shortly after they moved north, the two of them in the middle of Sunday brunch with the Starks. She was busy planning their small wedding reception with her mother and sister while he sat stuffed on the couch in between the two youngest members of the family still living at home, doing his best to keep up with the first-person shooter game they thought he should try even though he had warned them he had never played video games in his life. 

While Bran and Rickon laughed their asses off at his misadventures, Ned had sauntered into the den, offering Jaime a beer while asking him point-blank what he intended to do with his life since three months had passed with no job, no bar exam, and no income other than what his daughter was bringing home. Resisting the urge to tell Ned he was a kept man now, Jaime shrugged at the same time Sansa called out from the eat-in kitchen that her fiancé was going to look into starting his own fashion line. 

Jaime can still hear the squelching sound of Ned’s beer travelling through his nose right before he choked.

_God, I love that woman._

The thought of trying his hand at such an endeavor had never crossed his mind, but once Sansa had planted that seed . . . he was unstoppable. Using his connections back in Manhattan, he managed to get his foot in the door in the industry, ghosting designs for larger houses all the while working on his own creations, and with Sansa’s encouragement, he has already found success using various social media platforms to plug his work.

Jaime lays his design back on the desk, instead lifting his wedding photo off the corner. Sansa was absolutely gorgeous that muggy, summer afternoon she said she would take him, for better or for worse, until death do they part. He still cannot believe she is his, even after all this time. If it weren’t for Sansa coming into his life, he would never have escaped his lonely existence doing what he hated.

Thanks to her, he finally understood not only what love is but also what doing what you love feels like. She showed him that just because he was a lawyer, there was nothing set in stone that said he _had_ to be a lawyer. He could change directions. Start fresh. Find his way. He could toss his Yale diploma right into the garbage if he wanted, which he did, until Sansa found it and tucked it away in their hall closet.

Jaime’s cell phone starts dancing around his desk, so he rests the photo where it belongs. He opens his texts, and his blond brows shoot up to his hairline when he sees the newest one from Sansa.

_Which set do you want me to wear tonight – the red or the pink?_

A whimper slips out of his mouth, his cock knocking on the zipper of his impeccably tailored jeans. Frozen, he gapes like a surprised fish at the two photos of Sansa in her matching bra and panties. His thumbs quiver as he types his reply.

_They are both gorgeous, just like you. You pick. Surprise me._

Not ten seconds pass before a string of emojis hit his screen, beginning with a smiley with tears and ending with the devil himself.

 _Hurry home,_ she adds. _I miss you._

_Me too. Give me a couple more hours, then I’m all yours._

He almost drops his phone when her response whacks him right in the face, an artfully captured image of her bare cleavage, shrouded by an arm yet revealing just enough of a perky, pink nipple to make his brain throb.

 _I’ll be here . . ._ _just me . . . thinking about you . . ._

Jaime exhales in rush, running a hand through his hair. Well, that does it. There is no way in hell he will be able to think about anything else now. Might as well make the most of it.

He closes up shop in record speed, jumping into his shoes and grabbing his coat on the way out the door. The snow pelts him in the face as he jogs the short distance from the outbuilding which they converted into his studio into the mudroom attached to their garage. Once out of his shoes and coat, he shuffles into their kitchen, and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Lucy! I’m home!” he calls out, and his reference to that old black and white comedy she grew up watching with her family has her laughing all the way from back in their bedroom. He skitters quickly toward the sound, nudging open the partially closed door with his toes. A guttural noise bubbles up in his throat as he leans on the doorframe, the sheer beauty of his wife virtually blinding him.

There she stands in all her glory, still clad only in her silky unmentionables as she pivots back and forth while assessing the view reflected at her in the floor length mirror. It tickles him to no end that she finally decided to try on the Coco De Mer sets he bought her for her birthday to boost her spirits (even though the gift was _really_ more of a gift for him, and they both know it).

Her belly is rounder these days, her hips slightly wider and her breasts fuller than they were back when they first met. Sometimes she complains about the way her body is changing, how she is losing her figure or how she will never look the same after their first child is born in a few months. But to Jaime, she is even more radiant and captivating while pregnant than ever before.

“Are you sure you don’t want to pick?” she says, her playful yet nervous eyes meeting his licentious stare.

“They’re coming off any way, so . . . nah.” In a flash he is on her, scooping her up and lifting her into his arms. Her delighted giggle makes his heart pound like a drum. It is a sound he will never, _ever_ tire of.

Sansa gnaws her lip as he kisses his way down her body. “I probably shouldn’t be distracting you the way I . . . am, oh . . . _oh_ . . .”

Jaime chuckles against her thigh as his teeth drag the scrap of fabric masquerading as underwear down her legs. He pops up like a meerkat for a second, offering a sly wink. “Feel free to distract me any time, darling. Any time.”

Her fingers scratch his scalp just this side of painful while his mouth brings her pleasure, his tongue sliding along her slick folds and making her cry out his name faster than usual. Everything about his wife is more sensitive these days, a rare perk of pregnancy, so she says. Proud of his talents nonetheless, Jaime places soft, sweet kisses to her inner legs as she floats back down to earth, working his way back to her stomach.

“Joanna,” she blurts out as he kisses her belly, right underneath her navel.

Confused, Jaime’s blond brows pinch. “Come again?”

Sansa giggles, stroking his stubble with her fingernails. “I think we should name the baby after your mother. I know how much you love her, and I thought it would be a wonderful way to honor her memory.”

Jaime cannot breathe as his throat seizes up on him. “Sansa, I . . .”

“Joanna Minisa Lannister. One grandmother from me, one grandmother from you. So, what do you think?”

“You know what I think?” he says, his voice cracking as he embraces his wife. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

And while Jaime and Sansa hold each other, her stroking his hair while he fights back tears of joy, his cell phone, which he left in his coat pocket, buzzes once again.

_Tyrion: Shae and I got the house! We’re closing in three weeks. And tell your mother-in-law thanks for the invitation - I’ll be happy to bring the eggnog to the Christmas party._

A few seconds pass.

_Shae: Without the booze, your brother meant to say._

Another second or two slips by.

_Tyrion: Now where’s the fun in that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much to all of you who have read, followed, and bookmarked my story. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know there are people out there who like what I'm doing. I hope to have new Jaimsa tales going soon. Please come back and see me soon!


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